Belt Buckles and Books
by Pixieblade
Summary: One rainy day in the apartment and Kubo-chan gets a cold. Kubota's POV.


**Belt Buckles and Books**

"_**Dreams**_…electric currents randomly firing in the brain, causing visual, auditory, and sometimes tastes to be perceived; lifelike, they can often stimulate the memory center of the brain, making the dreamer believe that the dream is real."

Hands slid around my neck, warm, wiry, but definitely strong, they could probably kill me if they wanted…I wonder what that would be like, to die by these hands?

"Hmm…Kubo-chan, you reading that weird stuff again?" his voice was louder than need be, _I'm not deaf you know, not yet_. But I just murmur inarticulately and he takes it as a non-committal yes. The smoke from my, what, sixth, cigarette of the day flits up, ringing our heads as he leans over the back of the couch to see my book better. I'm not even reading it, not really, just passing the time while he plays video games and the rain outside makes the city even more grey and uninviting.

Speaking of video games, _you beat that last boss yet?_ I glance at the controller, he's broken another one, good thing I started buying them in bulk. It makes me want to laugh, but he'd get all flustered and mad if I did that. He'd sulk the rest of the day away and it's quiet enough without him doing that again.

"I'm just giving the machine a break; it can't keep up with my awesome speed you know?" His boisterous nature is one of the things that keep me guessing, never knowing what he might say or do next; I told that girl, Saori once, _he can only tell the truth_ and it's true, he hasn't learned how to lie, doesn't understand why he'd ever need to. If someone doesn't like what you're saying, either walk away or don't say it at all, that's how he operates: no falseness in his actions, no implied cruelty, he's so very honest it's scary sometimes. He's like a mirror to your soul, reflecting everything, even the stuff you don't want to see.

"Hey, Kubo-chan, what's for dinner? And don't you dare say that curry crap again! I swear, if I eat that shit one more day in a row I'm going to scream! Oh, what about Ramen?! That sounds good…can we? Come on, can we?" He's like a child, pulling on my sleeve and bouncing up and down in excitement, getting all worked up over ramen of all things, but _cats really are some of the pickiest eaters._ I tilt my head as a pillow whips past, crashing into the wall with a resounding _Thwack!_

_I'll be eating by myself if you don't hurry. _I smile as he rushes about the apartment, grabbing his jacket, belt and finally shoes. I'd never actually leave him, its an impossibility anymore, if someone's going to leave, it'll probably be him, fed-up with me and this crazy life we lead. Unless I die of course, there's always that possibility, especially with my job and all the people after us, but I'll never say that to him. I'd probably get hit for it, and his punches aren't light.

Ruefully I rub my jaw and pull out another cigarette, number seven, huh? Oh well. As I light it he reaches over and takes it from my lips. At first I thought he'd toss it, saying how they're bad for me again, but he just stands there, holding it in his fingers; I watch as he slowly puts it to his lips and takes a drag. Maybe I smile, maybe my eyebrow lifts up slightly, who knows, but I can't help but feel like laughing as he starts coughing, pushing it back in my face and yelling at me, "Argh! How can you stand these things?! They're nasty!"

_Hai, hai_, I lean down and lightly kiss his still yelling lips, _there, no more smoke, right?_ He looks puzzled for a moment, trying to figure out if I'm serious or not…I'm not even sure myself, eventually he decides to not deal with it at all and starts walking again, I follow a step behind, nasty cigarette hanging loosely from my mouth. He turns quicker than I expected, pointing one gloved finger at me and declares, "For making me taste that nasty thing you're buying dinner!"

What? How'd we get to that logic? Besides, I always buy dinner?! But all I do is nod my head, _hai, hai_. He takes up his normal place by my side, our hands linked and huddled slightly under the single umbrella we share as we walk the few blocks to the ramen place, it's not great, but its cheep and we know the owner, so there are always a few extra fish cakes in Tokito's soup and mines always extra salty. He scrunches his nose when I order; he can't stand the strong flavors I prefer. Well, maybe prefer isn't the right word, I don't really care, but I can't taste anything else anymore, so I just keep making things saltier, spicier, anything to be able to taste it, to make it real.

As we take our usual booth in the back, I realize I brought the book with me, dreams, huh? Haven't had one of those in a while, Tokito has enough for both of us, though his are more nightmares than dreams. One of those nightmares was the inspiration for looking at this book in the first place…

I knew something was wrong when he started tossing in his sleep. I've always been a light sleeper, so when he moves, I know it, especially since we share such a small bed. "No! Akira, no don't! Aghh!!" I was already sitting up when he jerked awake. He's always the most dangerous in these half-asleep moments, so I just sit there, waiting for him to slowly come all the way awake, maybe murmuring his name, or if it's a light one, rubbing his arm or back, whatever it takes to calm him. He's sweating and breathing hard, half sobbing with fear and pain, when he finally comes to. Eventually he ends up curled into a ball, head in my lap, arms wrapped around my back and legs, sheets scrunched up under tightly closed fists; sometimes the dreams don't leave quick enough and we spend hours just sitting like that, until the shadows fade from his eyes and he can finally sleep again.

He doesn't talk about them much, can't recall the dreams and sure as hell doesn't want to. I figure he'll talk when he can, no need to push him now, we've got all the time in the world to figure things out, but it doesn't stop me from wondering…who is this Akira and what the hell did he do to my cat? I'm not sure what will happen when we find out, to be truthful, part of me doesn't want to find out, I'd rather things just stayed the way they are right now, ramen vs. curry dinner debates, crushed PS2 controllers, cigarette wars, this whole little way of life we've worked out.

It was after one of these episodes that I thought about the book. After I got him back to sleep last night, it was close to nine, so I just stayed awake. Made coffee, grabbed some toast and watched the news. At some point I wandered back into the bedroom and looked around for something to do, some book I hadn't picked up in a while, anything to keep me from thinking. I don't have much, never had the need, but I do have books. Stepping over a pile of Tokito's comics, a few shirts, and such, I finally find one that seems like a good choice: The Sleeping Mind: Dream Analysis and Psychology. Heh, I don't even remember buying this one, but hell, maybe the author can give some clue as to how to fix our little sleeping problem.

Three, maybe four chapters in, and I've fallen asleep; author didn't know anything and I'm exhausted from staying up all night, but he's up now and it looks like it's going to rain, so I keep reading…

The ramen's getting cold and I'm just sitting there looking at the book in my hand like an idiot. He's been saying something to me, but I wasn't listening and now he's leaning across the table-his forehead against mine, eyes slightly crossing and mumbling something about a fever. Fever? Probably, it'd explain my weirdness today, though if you asked anyone else, they'd probably say I was like this all the time, but he's different, he knows.

He pushes the book back into my pocket and tosses my coat at me as he slams down some cash and pushes me out the store. He must be concerned, to pay for dinner after declaring that I was beholden to his taste buds to redeem myself in their eyes…err..tastes…whatever. Not good, great, things are starting to get a bit hazy and I'm getting cold sweats, "Kubo-chan, what are you doing standing in the rain? You'll just get sicker! Come on, geeze, clean your glasses so you can see or you'll run into something. And don't you dare pass out on me; you're too heavy for me to carry home myself!"

Man, I really must be out of it, glasses, huh? _Umbrella? Didn't we have one when we went in?_ He curses and runs back inside, grabbing the still wet umbrella and pops it open, hissing like a cat when he gets sprayed with the water. He thrusts his arm through mine and we head home in the rain. It's quiet as we walk, you can hear cars on the over passes, but our street is pretty empty, a few businesses, but mainly apartments like ours, with people who don't want others intruding in their lives, pretty perfect for us actually.

He slams the door open, and tosses our coats and the umbrella into the kitchen. Hurrying me to get my shoes off and almost throwing me into the bedroom, he starts the shower going, hot enough to steam up nicely and grabs a towel and rushes back to me. I don't think I've ever seen him this flustered, like a mother hen, so cute. He tosses the towel over my head and starts unbuttoning my shirt, "You're gonna' get sicker if you stay in these!"

Normally, I'd make some comment about not complaining about him taking my clothes off that'd turn him bright red, but my head's too fuzzy even for that. The jingle of metal on metal draws my attention and I glance down. He's fumbling with my belt buckle, face burning bright red and I can't help but tease him a bit…laying my hands on his I lean over and whisper in his ear, _if you want my pants off that badly, you just have to ask. _At that point I'm called several unpleasant names and hurled, still clothed, into the shower.

The heat helps, and after a few minutes I'm feeling better. When I get out he's waiting, new towel in his hands and fresh clothes to wear, guess I'm being sent to bed. As I pull the shirt on I absently reach for a cigarette from the table. He hands me a drink instead, "Orange juice; drink it. It's supposed to fix you." I smile and do what I'm told. It's cold and bitter and I don't remember having bought juice before when I notice his pant legs are wet, he must have run down to 7-11 while I was in the shower.

I toss the towel at him and reach for his belt buckle, laughing as he sputters at me. _You'll get sick too…take them off and come to bed, it'll be cold without you._ His face glows red in the darkening room. As I walk towards the bed the clatter of metal hitting the floor is all I hear in the quiet of the night.


End file.
